Doing the deed
by MLaw
Summary: Kuryakin comes upon someone from his past and things become complicated.
1. Chapter 1

There was a dark side to Illya Kuryakin, one that he let no one ever see, not even Napoleon.

While a young man being trained for work in _Glavnoye Razvedyvatel'noye Upravleniye_ , otherwise known as GRU the Soviet Intelligence Service, Illya Kuryakin like other agents, had been subjected to psychological conditioning that would bring out a more violent side in them.

The Kremlin wanted their operatives to be not only killers but ones who would never hesitate to dispatch their target whether it be a man, woman or child.

Illya had managed to sublimate that training, even when he'd been put to the the test, having been sent to assassinate Nicholaí Alexandrov. The man was one he knew from his early training days; he was told Nicholaí was planning to defect and that was all Kuryakin needed to know.

Illya discovered the truth and tried to save Alexandrov as well as his wife and child. He failed in that attempt, thanks in part to interference from KGB. Illya saw to eliminating those agents, and in the end made it look as if his assignment to kill Alexandrov was a success. *

It was eventually suspected by his Soviet masters that the special training had failed with Kuryakin. That knowledge bacame part of their decision making process in offering him up as a sacrificial lamb to the U.N.C.L.E... that and Illya's connection to Viktor Karkoff who had dropped out of favor in part due to his former protegé... Illya Kuryakin, who nearly caused an international incident during his further training in Paris. **

Illya's former superior at GRU Colonel-General Korabelnikov Vladimirovich, the Chief of the Main Intelligence Directorate and his assistant Captain Borislav Nikitin, both thought their young offering to UNCLE would be dead within a year.

It was of no concern as the deal made with Alexander Waverly...intelligence in exchange for a Russian representative to the Command, would remain intact with the death of Kuryakin; they had to merely send another expendable replacement. To them it was a win/win situation.

And now that dark side, that training which was a part of Illya's hard hearted coldness was finally rearing its ugly head and he didn't care, not this time.

He sat in an oversized high back Georgian leather wing chair, with his leg draped over one of the arms, seemingly relaxed.

In his right hand was a Soviet made Makarov pistol instead of his UNCLE Special, which he was aiming at the only other person in the room, a man named Albert Brun.

That man had once been a lieutenant in the German army during the war, stationed at the concentration camp outside of Kyiv called Sryets.

He'd been responsible for collecting the children of the city, the street orphans known as bespriorzi.

Illya was among dozens of them had been brought to the camp and slowly starved while being worked to death sorting through the endless belongings of prisoners who'd be executed within days of their arrival via train.

The extermination vans, all three of them, were kept busy day and night, with the bodies disposed of at the nearby ravine.

And now how many years later, Kuryakin had stumbled upon Albert Brun completely by accident in West Berlin while at one of the local markets. He was picking up a few things as he was having dinner with an employee from headquarters.

He'd developed a friendship with Gerta Schmidt, an older woman who worked in the records section. She treated Illya like family, as she'd lost her own son in the war. He'd been taken to a munitions factory as they needed the small hands of children to polish the shell casings. The factory was destroyed by an allied bombing.

When Kuryakin was in town between assignments Gerta would make a nice home cooked meal for him. Apparently her blond son would have been the same age as Illya had he lived.

Illya had purchased a box of chocolates for her, a bottle of red wine for dinner and had walked into a small shoppe to pick up a bouquet of flowers when he spotted a face he hadn't seen since the camp.

He knew Brun immediately though his hair was a bit grey and he was heavier...even though Illya's memories of him were that of a ten year old boy, they still were crystal clear.

And now here the Russian was with his gun trained on the man responsible for the deaths of so many children Illya had once managed to save and protect during the harsh Kyivan winter.

He taught them how to find food, shelter, showed them how to defend themselves against the packs of wild dogs that hunted anything amidst the ruins of the city.

They were all dead now, none of them survived thanks to Albert Brun.

"Please don't kill me? "Albert begged. "I was only following orders. I had nothing against the people of Ukraine." The man had no recollection of Kuryakin at all, all the faces of those children were the same to him.

"Ahhh, but the Jews were another thing or perhaps I should say, nothing to you? How many times have I heard the excuse of 'I was only following orders' from pigs like you?" Illya hissed. He raised a glass to his lips, a **drink** of red wine from the now half empty bottle.

Illya had missed his dinner with Frau Gerta but this was more pressing. He would to apologize to her later, after the fact. She knew agents were called away last minute and never asked why.

"Turn me in if you like. Take me to the Hague for trial but please don't shoot me? I have a wife and children. They are innocent and know nothing of my past," Brun begged. In reality he knew that in the west trials were less brutal than in the Soviet Union. There had been acquittals and light prison sentences; some of the more notorious SS camp members were who the allies were after. Brun felt he didn't fit into that category. He never directly killed any of his young charges.

"How many innocent children did you work to death in the camp, how many wives and mothers did you send away in the vans?" Illya barked. There was a voice inside his head, amorphous and unrecognizable. It kept saying the word ' _kill_ ' to him over and over.

Kuryakin knew what it was; the training he'd been given back in the Soviet Union was calling to him, the training he fought against almost every day of his adult life.

Brun was correct. He should be taken in and turned over for trial in the Hague, it was the right thing to do. Illya should ignore the voice in his head.

" _Kill!_ "

"Nyet!" He blurted out while massaging his left temple with his finger tips.

No, it wasn't the training, it was his conscience.

" _For the children…"_ he said.

There was a muffled bang, and the body of Albert Brun dropped lifeless to the floor in the man's own office; a **crimson** stain spread out across the beige carpet..

Kuryakin let go a deep sigh, what he'd done was wrong but it was so right. He'd gotten retribution for the lost souls who haunted his dreams to this day...perhaps they would no longer visit him now that he'd done this for them,

Illya dismantled the Makarov and as he left Brun's flower shop, he disposed of the pieces. Some were tossed down a few sewer drains, some in trash bins.

He disappeared into the night, unseen with the near empty bottle of wine tucked under one arm and the box of chocolates under the other. The glass he'd been drinking from was shoved into his pocket.

He was invisible now, something he'd always been good at ever since his father had told him to do so many years ago during the war. * It was a talent that helped him survive those years, and would continue to serve him.

This wasn't the first Nazi he'd killed, nor would it most likely be the last. He was aware of those who were hunting down war criminals and more power to them, he thought.

Albert Brun was a minor player from a camp in the Ukraine associated with the ravine at Babi Yar, where thousands of Jews were executed in just one day. It was something the Soviet government was refusing to acknowledge; Illya doubted the Nazi hunters could do much about it until that happened.

He was sure those hunters not have minded what he'd done today, though no one living but he would ever know he'd done the deed… not even Napoleon.

.

* ref to "The Test"

** ref to " First Kill

*** ref to "Beginnings"


	2. Chapter 2

Illya returned to the UNCLE office in West Berlin where he was staying in guest quarters. His assignment in Potsdam concluded rather easily as he was only there to tie up a few loose ends for Napoleon, who'd been called back to New York city by Waverly.

It was too late to call Gerta Schmidt to apologize for missing her dinner; he would do so in the morning.

What he'd done earlier in the evening was weighing heavily on his shoulders. He thought having executed the former Nazi lieutenant Albert Brun for his crimes would have brought a sense of closure maybe even peace, but it did not.

Part of him was unsettled at having taken the law into his own hands, on the other hand he'd believed he'd found justice for the many children who perished because of Brun's heartless treatment.

He was the one who brought them there, he oversaw their fourteen hour work days of sorting the belongings of those prisoners destined for death.

The children, including Illya, were given little to eat. Lacking rest, adequate clothing and food while working endless hours took its toll. The littlest ones went first and Illya watched in agony as the children he had grown to know, and love...especially one girl named Irina, die one by one.

 _Irina was a bit older than he, and he developed a crush on her while they were still in hiding in Kyiv. He had his first kiss with her and together they comforted each other as best they could._

 _One of the older boys, Vasily Kvantrishvili, made arrangements for the girls to 'entertain' some of the soldiers in the camp, and if one of them became pregnant then she disappeared, having been sent to one of the extermination vans._

 _It finally happened to Irina; she was impregnated by a soldier and Illya watched as they took her away to the vans. He no longer had tears to cry, he had no feelings left to give. He was just waiting to die himself._

 _Vasiliy arranged for boys to be sent to soldiers as well, though it was risky for pedophiles among the German ranks; these men kept their preferences secret as they too could just as easily end up in the death vans or in front of a firing squad for their deviant paid Vasiliy well with coin and extra food rations to keep their secrets._

 _One night Illya was taken from his bunk to the Doctor's office where a soldier was waiting there for him. It was the doctor's assistant, Karl Voelker and Illya remembered him; he was always staring at him._

 _He was groped, and Illya knew what was coming next, but fate looked kindly upon him as there was a riot in the camp that saved him. In the insanity that followed he was able to escape along with thirteen other prisoners…*_

The memories came flooding back now and it was all Illya could do to hold back the tears as he lay in his bed at headquarters.

It was mostly a sleepless night, but when he dozed off and dreamed, the spectres returned to haunt him.

"I killed him for you, you should go and rest now. You have been avenged," he said.

"Not yet," they whispered to him. Irina called to him but it wasn't the pretty face he remembered. She was a corpse with blackened eyes.

"Illyusha it is not over yet, not for you. There will be others, there will be others..."

He awoke with a start, gasping as he was covered in sweat. Illya cursed to himself.

"When will these bloody nightmares end? What others? Nazis, innocents? Who could they be?"

His communicator called his attention, and he took a deep breath before assembling it and answering.

"Kuryakin here."

"Tovarisch, how goes it. You tie everything up in a neat bow for me?"

"Napoleon?"

"And who else calls you tovarisch?" Napoleon sensed something was wrong. "You okay?"

"Another sleepless night I am afraid."

"The nightmares?"

"What else."

"You seem to have them more when you're in Germany...around Germans that is."

"Do you think so?"

"Hey I pay attention to these sort of things, and I think you always having these bad dreams is the reason why you nap so much."

"Really, you think so Doctor Solo?" Illya finally chuckled.

"It makes sense."

"I suppose. As to your other question, I will be winging my way back to New York two days, and yes I plan to catch up on my sleep on the flight, thank you."

"Ahhh, becoming a mind reader now are you?"

"Napoleon, have you nothing to do?"

"Well excuse me for asking how it went...which you never answered by the way."

"Sorry for being a bit testy. I am tired. Everything went well in Potsdam, no more loose ends."

"Thanks. I look forward to your returning home. We'll have dinner at Sardi's, my treat for you having to clean up after me."

"Whatever you wish my friend; you know I will never turn down a free meal...speaking of which, I must make a phone call. Kuryakin out."

He reassembled the communicator, leaving it on the night table and picked up the telephone receiver.

"Frau Gerta Schmidt, bitte."

"One moment Herr Kuryakin."

"Hello Illya?" She answered.

"I want to apologize for missing dinner and for not calling you. Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive Schatzi. You come tonight, ja? You do not mind leftover bratwurst with spätzle and spargel. I will make a schwarzwälder kirschtorte… I know how you love your chocolate!" She laughed.

"What did I do to deserve a friend such as you Gerta?"

"You fill a mother's heart with joy again Illya, though you could never replace my Wilhelm, you make for a nice substitute."

"You flatter me, as always."

"So tonight at seven mein Liebling?"

"Ja. Danke Gerta."

Illya arrived at her flat right on time, armed again with the chocolates, more wine and flowers he purchased far from Albert Brun's shoppe. It was called _Blumen Kühn_...Kühn, he must have been living under that alias.

There was nothing in the newspaper about the man being found dead. It made sense as the flower shop was closed on a Monday, that was today.

Kuryakin knew he'd be long gone before the body was discovered and besides he left no evidence to implicate himself in any way.

Illya couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done...what did it mean when the spectral Irina told him there would be more? More Nazis from his past? Did he have a destiny to meet them?

Gerta answered her door with a smile. She stood there wearing a bright floral patterned dress and a white apron. She was a handsome woman, grey haired and a little portly; she had a most friendly personality.

She acted surprised as he handed her the flowers and chocolate, as if she'd never received them from him before.

Once entering the apartment, he removed his shoes and placed them on a nearby floor mat as was the custom. If there was one thing he knew, it was to perform this little ritual.

The practice of taking your shoes off when you entered somebody's home was widely expected in Germany as well as a number of European and Asian countries.

As he ate dinner with Gerta, she kept studying him, sensing something was amiss.

"What's wrong Illya? Do you not feel well?"

"I am fine, just a bit tired. I did not sleep well last night."

"And why was that? Were you in the arms of a lovely fraulein perhaps?" She laughed ever so softly. "Maybe someday you will find a girl, get married and make lots of beautiful babies?"

"I doubt that Gerta. UNCLE does not permit its agents to marry until we reach retirement age, you know that...if I even manage to make it to the age of forty, that is."

"Do not say such things Illya! You know how I feel about you, given I lost my son. You are like family to me now. I would have no one left except for my bruder, if he is even alive. I never heard from him but still I have not given up hope that he is alive somewhere. It was so hard for people to find each other after the war, it still is."

"You never told me you had a brother."

"Oh yes, well we were not close. He was younger than me... went off joining the Nazi party and then the army. He was a lieutenant when I last heard about him. Poor Albert was always so gullible, never a leader and always a follower."

Illya swallowed hard when he heard the name. No, it was not possible.

"Albert Schmidt? Perhaps I could use my contacts to try and find him."

"No silly, Schmidt is my married name. My maiden name was Brun."

Illya coughed hard, nearly choking.

"Mein Gott!" Gerta quickly pounded him on the back.

"I am fine! A bit of schnitzel just went down the wrong way."

He looked at his wristwatch. " I am afraid I must apologize as I have to leave. I neglected to file my report with Mr. Waverly before I left headquarters. If I do not do it, then he will be wearing my teeth for cufflinks."

"Tsk, I do not think Mr. Waverly is that brutal. Still if you must leave, then you must. Take a few slices of cake with you then, ja?"

"Thank you yes, I will," he answered rather absentmindedly.

She packed up the cake for him and bid Illya a good bye with a kiss on the cheek.

"Stay safe until we meet again." She knew something was troubling him, and it had nothing to do with filing a report. The woman had been with the U.N.C.L.E. long enough to know not to ask any questions.

"I will try Gerta," he kissed her on the cheek as well."Thank you as always for the wonderful meal and your company."

Illya walked down the dark street lit every twenty yards or so by a street lamp. He stepped into one of the the halos of light, far enough from Gerda's apartment building. Grasping the cold metal pole; he held back back his grief.

Nearby was a trash bin and he tossed the cake into it.

How could he eat it? He'd murdered Gerta's brother. How could he ever face her again?"

Illya continued to wander until he made out a small church. It was apparently a Catholic chapel…

Though he'd been raised in the Orthodox Church until he was eight, Illya denied God and religion after the death of his family during the war.

Something however, drew him into the chapel. There in one corner stood a statue of the Madonna, and before her were rows of lit candles.

He stepped in front of it, and after dropping a few coins in a donation box, Illya lit a candle and bowed his head.

"Holy Mother, I know I have denied God, I know I have committed many sins, especially killing Albert Brun. How was I to know it was Gerta's brother? Would that knowledge have made him spare the man's life?

"Should I have turned him over to the authorities for his crimes? "

This time tears fell down his cheeks.

"I know you cannot answer these questions for me. All I ask is help in finding peace?"

He cupped his hands around the candle, letting its warmth fill him. Illya was suddenly overcome with a sense of calm, and he took that as a sign.

"Thank you," he whispered before he turned to leave.

Two days later he was sitting in his office when Napoleon walked in. The demeanor told Illya something was amiss.

"Bad news tovarisch. Your friend Gerta Schmidt in our Berlin office...she passed away last night of an apparent heart attack. I'm so sorry, I know you two were close."

Illya bowed his head. "Thank you for telling me."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay then. I'm off to have lunch with Wanda...care to join us?"

"No, I think I need to be alone for a bit."

Napoleon gave his partner a squeeze on the shoulder. "If you need to talk, I'm here for you."

Once Solo left, Illya laid his arms on his desktop, resting his head on them as he closed his eyes.

"Was Gerta one of the others?" He whispered.

No one answered him.


End file.
